


Four Colly Birds

by cissamione



Series: Twelve Days of Christmas [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellatrix-centric, F/F, Good Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 05:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17197211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissamione/pseuds/cissamione
Summary: Four experiences Bellatrix has involving blackbirds.





	Four Colly Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Also not very Christmassy - oops.  
> So the rhyme originally said 'colly/collie birds, which meant bird that were black as coal, like blackbirds. That then changed to calling birds, but I went with the original.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

The platinum of the bird skull was cold against Bellatrix’s sternum. The leather it hung on was smooth, soft on her skin, and she shivered as she felt magic whispering past the nape of her neck, sealing the leather ends. She lifted her head of wild hair and looked up at Cassiopeia as the older woman tucked her wand away. Her black eyes were wide as her hand fluttered up to touch the pendant.

“That’s for protection, my little Black girl.” Cassiopeia crouched down so that her face was level with Bellatrix’s, who swung her legs gently on the chair.

“Protection from what? I don’t need protection, I’m a Black! I’ll protect myself.” Bellatrix exclaimed, her little hands forming into little fists. Her brow furrowed as Cassiopeia lifted her hands and held them, cool-skinned, against her cheeks.

“Protection from the world, child, because our name is as much a curse as it is a blessing, and where you’re going, you’ll find people who judge you for your name, who don’t like what it represents. My nephew is proud, too proud, and ignorant. He’s raised you to use the name as a shield, but you must remember it is also a weapon, a cloak, a wand, my child. It can be more than a use for getting out of trouble.” Cassiopeia’s blue eyes, the same colour as Narcissa’s, Bellatrix noted, were vacant, staring into her and past her, and the look in them scared Bellatrix.

“Auntie Cass?” She asked tentatively. She would never admit to being scared, not when her mother always to her fear was for the weak, and cousin Evan teased her about it, even though she was older than him. Cassiopeia didn’t respond, her eyes still distant, she just slipped her hands down to rest on Bellatrix’s shoulders, which she squeezed tight, too tight, and stood up. She walked away without another word, leaving Bellatrix on the too big chair, staring at the too big necklace around her neck in the too big mirror that was smudged and dirty.

***

The first time she flew, Bellatrix finally felt free.

Free from her father’s blustering defensive abuse of his name and station. Free from her mother’s expectations that she constantly failed to fulfil when she was too attractive, too strong, too smart, too much like her father. Free from the professors who were watching, waiting for her to fall short, to run to them devote herself to a lifetime of muggle-worship like they had. Free from the persistent eyes of Andy and Cissy, who in turn despised her and idolised her.

The Forbidden Forest flicked seamlessly to the Great Lake, then that to the mountains as she soared, the Scottish wind cold as it rushed past her wings. And Bellatrix laughed, something like joy bubbling up inside her.

***

In Azkaban there were times when her arms and legs felt like they were made of lead, and her head felt like an unbearable weight on her neck. Eventually she couldn’t even remember what the wind under her wings felt like. She could only remember that the feeling was good,  _ so _ good, but even that began to slip away, and it seemed like all she could remember was the bad stuff, all the irritations, imperfections, insecurities.

In the beginning she had tried to transform, but nothing had come, she had lost everything, she didn’t have her own innate magic. She was just a shell.

***

The ring was platinum, shining in the moonlight, forged into the shape of blackbird feathers that curled around her finger. The feather’s were joined by a single stone, a black onyx, and Hermione said it reminded her of her eyes, dark and deep and so under-appreciated, she said.

Bellatrix’s thumb brushed over the ring as she shifted her gaze to the sleeping woman in her bed, both of their hair everywhere, legs tangled together, arms thrown across torsos and breaths in sync.

“I love you.” Bellatrix whispered to the woman who had proposed to her. The woman who made her feel like she was flying, all the time, with no land in sight and boundless energy. The woman who taught her how to be her, who knew who Bellatrix was before Bellatrix had truly discovered that for herself. And those three words felt so inadequate for the woman who had changed her life, shaped her future, remolded her past, but those were the only words that she had for the transcendental feelings she had for the angel who was tangled up with her.

“Love you too, Bella. Go t’sleep.” Hermione’s muffled voice breathed back, and Bella felt her lips twitch into a smile as she snuggled closer.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments, encouragement is food to me!


End file.
